A Matter of Perspective
by Khentkawes
Summary: I’ve seen a lot of action over the years, but that doesn’t make it any easier to handle. Right now, I can’t help but think that a member of my team was injured because I failed to watch his back. I wasn’t there when he needed me. None of us were.


A Matter of Perspective

Summary: I've seen a lot of action over the years, but that doesn't make it any easier to handle. Right now, I can't help but think that a member of my team was injured because I failed to watch his back. I wasn't there when he needed me. None of us were.

* * *

Somehow it's always the same story. We go on a mission, something goes wrong, we end up fighting for our lives. It's become rather cliché actually. 

But, I thought we were better than this.

It was a simple ambush and to be honest, I'm not even sure why they were attacking us. All I know is that we were outnumbered and forced to retreat under heavy fire from enemy soldiers.

There's always a sense of chaos in the midst of a battle, a feeling that everything is out of control and the entire world is contained in a single instant. In that one moment, I could feel the rush of adrenaline as we ran, carefully covering our retreat with a few well-placed shots. One of the enemy soldiers circled around to come at us from the side. I should have seen him. I would have seen him if I hadn't been so focused on getting home. Somehow, despite all my years in the field, this one important detail escaped my notice. We were almost to the gate when I heard the shots and I turned just in time to see them hit their mark.

He cried out briefly and then hit the ground. I was the closest, so I went to his side, yelling for the rest of my team to provide cover fire. My knees hit the ground as I ducked down, pulling him behind a tree and ignoring his grunt of pain. I could smell scorched flesh and felt the tree shake as dirt and foliage exploded nearby, showering down overhead. I quickly checked the wound, my actions automatic, ingrained through years of training. Time was short and SG-3 was already dialing the gate. Applying pressure to the gaping hole in his side, I tried to tune out the continuous blasts of weapons fire as I searched for a clear path to the gate. I pulled his arm over my shoulders to help him stand, hoping we didn't draw attention to ourselves. On the first attempt he nearly collapsed, gasping in pain. In the end, I was forced to haul him to his feet, and drag him back through the gate. He was unconscious by the time we hit the ramp on the other side, and we were both covered in his blood.

The gate room was filled with shouts and I heard my own voice calling for a medical team. I heard the grating sound of metal as the iris slid closed and I felt the bustle of people; footsteps on the ramp behind me, running in the halls, orders shouted as personnel responded with trained efficiency. The noise of the battle still echoed in my ears. I could smell the smoke, the acrid burnt stench mixing with the taste of blood hanging in the air.

I've seen a lot of action over the years, but that doesn't make the aftermath any easier to handle. Right now, I can't help but think that a member of my team was injured because I failed to watch his back. I wasn't there when he needed me. None of us were.

It's not that I believe him incompetent or incapable. I know it may seem like I talk down to him sometimes, but that's just because I know he doesn't have the same kind of experience that the rest of us do. Not yet, anyway. Nevertheless, I know that he is quite capable of taking care of himself and highly qualified to perform his job. But that doesn't make me feel any less responsible for what happened today. A member of this team was injured, and although we can't always prevent that, it is still completely unacceptable.

The infirmary is a mess. SG-3 accompanied us, and they were guarding the gate when we came under attack. Several of them were injured as well, and I can see one of the nurses treating what appears to be a flesh wound on Reynolds' shoulder. I situate myself in a lone chair in the corner, waiting for the organized chaos to return to a normal level. I'm not leaving until I know for sure that everyone's going to be fine, so for now I watch as the medical staff tend to the injured.

I glance out the door to where my friend was taken to surgery. Even now, I see him lying on the ground; the messy stomach wound oozing blood and caked in dirt, the edges of ragged, torn flesh exposed beneath burnt clothing. I didn't have the chance to think about it at the time, but now I can't get it out of my mind. I look down at my hands and try to rub off the layers of grime. They feel gritty, particles of dirt entrenched beneath my fingernails, rusty flakes dried on my skin. My pants are streaked with blood from when I tried to wipe my hands clean. My palms are still stained from when I pressed on his stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. I close my eyes to block out the images, but I can still hear the explosions and see the bodies smeared in red. This isn't the first time that I've felt blood on my hands. It isn't the first time that I've seen a friend and teammate fall, or that I've sat here and worried…and I know it won't be the last.

A gentle hand lands on my shoulder and I look up in surprise.

"Jack?"

"Daniel," he responds calmly. "You okay?"

I try to shake off the confusion, but the past few hours have left me feeling muddled and disoriented. "What are you doing here?"

He manages to look casual as he leans against the wall, close enough that his physical presence keeps me focused, but far enough away to give me room to breathe, space to sort out all the jumbled thoughts and feelings warring against each other. He's wearing dress blues and would look out of place if I hadn't seen him stand in that exact same spot so many times before.

"I had a meeting with Landry this morning. Thought I'd stick around until you guys came back, maybe join you for lunch. Of course, I didn't know you were planning such a dramatic entrance."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Yeah, some entrance."

"Hey," he says, a bit more gently. "You know none of this is your fault." I shrug and look away. "He's going to be okay." I hear the words, but I still don't respond. I can see him frown out of the corner of my eye, but he lets the matter drop. I try rubbing at the dried blood on my pant leg. The stains have soaking in so deep that no amount of washing will ever remove them.

"Where's Carter?"

"Getting checked out by one of the nurses," I say, waving to a curtained off corner of the infirmary. "Minor injuries."

"Ah." We've all been there before. "You know Teal'c will probably never let you guys go off-world without him ever again."

I nod. "Probably not." Teal'c isn't due back for a couple of days yet. He's currently on Chulak, helping Bra'tac gather support for more democratic practices in the New Jaffa Nation. We said that we could handle one mission without him. Apparently we were wrong. Even with SG-3 for backup, we still managed to make a mess of it.

Jack shifts slightly against the wall, growing tired of my silence. It feels so right to have him here waiting with me. Almost like old times. Except it isn't. In the old days, Jack was the one that we looked to for guidance, the one we…the one _I_ always knew I could count on. But now things have changed. Somewhere along the line, we all grew up. I grew up.

After a long silence, I finally get up the nerve to try and speak.

"I'm sorry, Jack." I don't look up from the floor of the infirmary, a floor splattered with mud and drops of life that have been spilt in this latest battle. And I wonder when the notion of unending battles ceased to surprise me, when I stopped thinking that everything could be solved diplomatically…

"For what?" Jack's voice is still calm and steady, but filled with genuine confusion.

"I don't think I ever realized how hard it was for you. How you felt responsible every time something happened to one of us, every time I did something stupid and got hurt for it." I look up now, meeting his gaze briefly and see the calm sense of concern before my gaze returns to the floor. His worry is tempered by the knowledge that this was just one battle… a battle that we will all recover from. We will pick ourselves back up again and persevere, because that's what we do.

He doesn't reply, simply pulls over a chair and sits down beside me.

"Mitchell's going to be fine," Jack says again, the sound of his voice forcing me to look up at him.

I already know the answer, but I ask the question anyway. "How do you know?"

"Because Mitchell is a fighter, and he never gives up." Jack looks at me intently. "Much like someone else I know."

I can't help a faint smile at that and let out a deep breath, releasing some of the tension with it. Jack relaxes into the chair beside me, settling in to wait. We are still sitting in companionable silence when the doctor returns, smiling slightly before coming over to give us the news.

* * *

Author's Note: in case it wasn't clear, this story takes place very early in season 9, when Mitchell is still the "new guy." 

Questions? Comments? Criticisms? Feedback is always appreciated.


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